To be loved by a Black woman is to be loved by an eternal source of joy, creation, and stimulation. Her love is as endless as the sea. Her eyes are the gatekeepers to a whimsical wonderland, flush with the aroma of your favorite meal and memories. Her aura shines as bright as the morning sun. Her warm embrace can soothe the most rugged and wretched corners of our inner selves. She can make time stand still with a simple glance. Have you ever honestly peered into her eyes and bore witness to all she is, all she was, all she had to and continues to endure just to be in her skin, to live and love as a Black woman?
A day before an angry white mob of insurrectionists laid siege to the U.S. Capitol, "Rosewood" was one of the trending topics on my Twitter's "For You" page. I did not feel compelled to click on the hashtag because I wanted to avoid what Rosewood represents.
A week removed from the latest episode in America's coddling of unbridled whiteness, the parallels between my opting out of the Rosewood hashtag and America's penchant for opting out of its history of racial terror were jarring. America's deliberate reluctance to engage with its ghastly past and its complicitous behavior in solidarity with white mob violence have enduring consequences. Last Wednesday's attempted coup was simply the latest evidence of what endures when a country intentionally ignores its ugliest origins.
It is far easier believing in the worst parts of myself than the best. Despite the plaudits from my most trusted confidants and complete strangers, I struggled daily, believing in what I am and what I am here to do. I have resided and even quarantined in those dark spaces of the mind where light never visits. For decades, my most intimate thoughts drove me further away from light and love, ultimately colliding with the ruse that was my public persona. No one knows we are living a lie because we often lie to ourselves first to convince the rest of the world everything is okay.
I felt compelled to share this part of my life with you for several reasons, none more salient than hopefully encouraging those who may be struggling with securing employment right now. I want to remind you that you aren't alone in this uphill battle, and you will be victorious. I know this to be true not because it happened to me, but because of the lessons I learned while struggling to stay afloat.
What I have come to learn as a man is that there never has been a prototype for manhood or masculinity, contrary to popular belief, a belief rooted in heteronormativity. As a straight Black man in today’s world, I have even more of a responsibility to disrupt the dangerous limitations of toxic masculinity because of the privileges bestowed upon me. If we truly care about Black Boy Joy, straight Black men must do the necessary work to ensure future generations of our boys don’t get stuffed into that same box we were told as children was the only way we could exist. Sadly, too many of us eventually became men failing to live in our full authenticity. This helps to explain in part the fragility of the male ego because when you are denied the opportunity to be your full self, you become jealous when witnessing someone like a Billy Porter who lives boldly in his whole truth.
